


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by MuggleMirror



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Louis, Enemies to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMirror/pseuds/MuggleMirror
Summary: They say one can resist everything but temptation. The desire that leads to the passionate pursuit of climax that has built and broken empires. So what was stopping Harry from giving in to the temptation of Louis Tomlinson?OrA regency murder mystery au where Louis is married to an earl and Harry is a detective. Hatchets are buried but not everyone is as they seem.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 47
Kudos: 224
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2019





	Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 88: regency au where Louis is omega wife of an old earl. the earl dies of mysterious circumstances and Louis is the prime suspect. Harry is the detective in charge of the case.
> 
> Originally, the prompt was abo. I decided to leave that out since i haven't written abo yet, and didn't wanna suck at it, consequently ruining the prompt.
> 
> I had great fun writing this, anything murder mystery gets me going.  
> Unfortunately, I had to shorten the length of fic, cut some plot points, because I was running out of time. Maybe some other time I'll write a long murder mystery for the sake of my little grey cells.
> 
> Thank you for listening to me rant about this in the middle of the night and for sticking with me every time I had a crazy idea. You know who you are x
> 
> Reblog the Tumblr post [here](http://mugglemirror.tumblr.com/post/190344188935/something-wicked-this-way-comes-main-pairing) if you liked the fic :)
> 
> You can also subscribe [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMirror) to be notified of my future fics :)
> 
> Additional warnings:  
> \- brief mentions of rape (not explicit)  
> \- mentions of murder  
> \- mentions of suicide
> 
> Title is from Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I.

_ "Fair is foul, and foul is fair." - William Shakespeare _

Winter air rushed through Harry's hair, making them rowdy. Shivering, he pulled his coat closer to garner as much warmth as he could. The wrought iron gate creaked open as Harry pushed it with his cold hand and walked in. The dull moon cast shadows of headstones across the snow laden path while Harry walked softly, careful so as to not disturb the dead; for everyone deserves peace in death.

Harry crouched in front of the grave he had been visiting the last five years. He yearned to caress the moss covered headstone that bore the name of his companion. The pain was still fresh, his heart still bled at the thought of watching her die in his arms. Harry had struggled to find flowers for her, only managing to gather a few wild ones and placed them on the grave — the vibrant purple contrasting with the glum grey of the stone.

Memories raged inside his head. Another year gone by and he was nowhere close to finding the truth. Harry lowered his head, shame and guilt overtook him.

“I have not forgotten my promise, Sybil. I will find him.” Harry pressed his palms against his eyes as he rose up. Determination and courage resided in his heart as he traced his steps back to the pub. 

The road to the pub was lonely. His only companions were the skeletons of dead trees and their shadows that leaned over him. A loud thud sounded in the distance that startled Harry. Wondering what it was, he ran towards the source. After a short run, Harry heard the rattling of a wheel. Curious, he moved towards it and in the process stumbled and fell over. His hands touched the ground before his face could, saving himself from the grimy dirt of the road. 

He stood up, dusted his hands and his clothes as best as he could. A tree had fallen a few yards away. Harry walked through the very little space that was left, crossing the road and over to a stranded cart.

A man was hunched over. Harry approached him and asked, "Can I do anything?" 

The disheveled man turned in an instance and stared down Harry. His state was questionable, yet he spoke with poise, "No, sir." 

"Oh John! If the man is willing to help, accept it. Surely you don't want me stranded here," another man spoke from inside the carriage, his voice softer than the snow falling from the heavens above.

"Not at all, my lord. I will take you back safely."

The carriage door opened and the man stepped outside. "I have no reserves that you will, John. But do let the man help you." His face shadowed further by the hat.

The servant reluctantly agreed, seemingly forgoing his hesitation to take help from a perfect stranger to appease his master.

Harry removed his coat and set it aside. He then, along with John, pushed the carriage out of the pothole it was stuck in. They managed to push the carriage successfully but not before the wheel broke. All efforts were in vain.

Harry noticed the man getting restless. "I'm afraid the cold air is getting the better of us," he pointed at John's hands that were now turning red.

“It is cold,” the man agreed and then added, "and you're hurt."

Following the gaze of the man, Harry looked down. His beige trousers were stained maroon at his knees. He hadn't realized he'd been bleeding or even hurt from the fall.

"With the wheel broken, the only way to return would be walking," John said. 

Harry quickly offered to walk the man to his house, insisting it wouldn't be safe to be out alone at this part of the night.

"Sir, you're hurt. I cannot ask that of you. You should be going home to rest. John and I can manage," the man resisted.

At this, the carriage door opened again. This time, a lady stepped out and sent curious glances at Harry's way.

Harry wondered why she hadn't gotten off the carriage before. Maybe with an empty carriage the wheel wouldn't have broken.

"It is but a small gash. It doesn't hurt at all, Harry said. "It would ease my mind to know you lot have reached safely. Cold, lonely nights harbor crime," he glanced at the lady.

The man nodded in understanding and agreed. As they walked, they got closer to the fallen tree. Harry crossed it first and then helped the lady and the man. John, however, insisted he could walk fine.

The rest of the walk to the destination was easy. Small talk flowed as Harry was introduced to Lady Catherine, the cousin and a dear friend of the man. They got into easy conversation as she told Harry about their trip to the Americas.

Harry had never been to places, home was all he had known. The most he traveled was to a different town to make a living and settle there. As Lady Catherine painted a picture of the Americas for him, Harry found himself wishing to visit the place. Maybe someday he would, when he wasn't bound to this land by the promise he had made.

The walk ended quickly and they stopped a few yards away from a manor. It was the Gillingham Hall.

"This is where I live," the man spoke finally. 

"It is majestic," Harry said sincerely, and it was. The manor rose high in the clouds with acres of land surrounding it, the moon adorned the sky above them with stars as its companions. Silhouettes of trees moved along the cool winter air. 

“I should leave now,” Harry said.

"You should stay the night Mr. Styles," Lady Catherine prompted. "Darkness has settled in and it would make me very uneasy if you left at this time of the night with your leg like that." She looked at her cousin hoping he would insist.

"Please. My cousin would worry too much of her savior. Surely you wouldn't want to trouble her." He smiled then continued hesitantly, "for the trouble you bore for us, it would please me if you did."

Harry smiled in agreement. Though the man in question hadn't yet introduced himself, Harry was thoroughly charmed.

At last, he removed his hat exposing his face, lips turning up to smile, "Louis Tomlinson. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

\--

Come morning, Harry was greeted with soft sheets around him. He had slept soundly but not before appreciating his chambers. The contrast between the room here and the one he was staying at the inn was drastic. Everything here was luxurious, something Harry could never get used to.

After being shown to his room last night, Taylor, Mr. Tomlinson’s valet had brought him a set of fresh clothes to change into. His knee was still sore and Taylor was kind enough to clean the gash and wrap it up.

Unfamiliar with the service, Harry had thanked him profusely. Taylor only humbly replied, “It is my job, sir.”

Breakfast came with the invitation for the hunt. Harry resisted, feeling as though he was imposing. Not to forget that his knee was still a little sore. Riding with a compromised knee, even if the gash was small, was not something Harry would risk. He had heard,  _ seen _ , many fall to their death with perfectly capable knees.

"It will be great fun, Mr. Styles. If you prefer, we can have some tea and cakes while we watch the men from afar," said Lady Catherine.

"Robert!” Lady Catherine then addressed a man who had just walked in, another man in tow. Robert was tall and fair. His grey hair was combed to perfection. His every step was borne from authority, claiming the attention of everyone in the room. "Have you met Mr. Styles? Last night our carriage broke and Mr. Styles made sure we walked home safe! Isn't he a sweet man?" Lady Catherine gushed.

Harry's cheeks burned up at the praise but his eyes were trained at Robert.

"Sweet indeed," the other man said at the same time as Robert said, "stay Mr. Styles. You've been kind to my family, my husband.” Robert looked at Harry with a familiar hint of grey eyes that matched his grey hair. “It would please me if you stayed for the event."

"Will you be joining us?" Harry asked.

Robert looked to his companion, as if coming onto a silent conclusion. "I have some work to take care of, a few meetings to attend in the village. We shall meet at dinner."

"Looking forward to it."

\--

The outcome of hunting in the bitter cold of December, as Louis had predicted, was glum and dreary. The crisp winter air chafed his skin, rubbing at it vigorously. Still, the sound of the hooves filled his senses, followed by the barking of the hounds. As Arthur galloped beneath him, Louis wondered if it had been better if he had stayed at the manor with the earl instead. Not that he would ever expect to have a decent conversation with the curmudgeon.

It wasn't so much as gloomy as uneventful. However, if Louis were to predict the outcome of his ride, it would've been on the brink of optimism. Louis would have said, on asking, that he’d loved it. He would have boasted about his skills, preached about how material things provide him the absolute pleasure. He'd say that the feeling of flying yet being tied to the ground was exhilarating and that the wind lapping at his face sparked every fiber in him with joy. He'd have lied and said all the above things because that's what people wanted to hear.

"Louis!" Felix called from next to him, "who is that with Lady Catherine?"

Louis spared a look at the tent where the ladies and the man in question were enjoying tea. "A Mr. Styles." 

After that, Felix went on to laugh about the timid man who would much rather enjoy tea with the ladies than hunt with the men.

Louis shrugged, indifferent to the opinion. He did not care for anybody's preferences or choices. He would much rather be home doing his duties or in the library, going over the ledgers.

"He is a sweet man. He was so concerned for our safety last night that he walked us to the manor with an injured leg. Such men are hard to come by." Louis tightened his hold on the reins.

"A man of honor but not enough to tackle the wolves?” Felix cackled.

Louis' gaze was back on Mr. Styles. He looked comfortable in the company of his cousin, even joking with the servants. Everything seemed easy with him while Louis had to put up a fight with life everyday. Louis found himself envious of this man for whom life was but a simple notion. Pushing his insecure thoughts away for the lonely nights to follow, Louis dug his heel into Arthur’s side, urging him to move faster. 

Like all accidents, it happened all too sudden. One minute, he's galloping down the moors with a joyous façade and the next, he’s crashing down. He’s barely able to collect himself, the embarrassment of the fall already blooming in his cheeks, that there's a hand helping him up. 

“I’m alright” Louis said to the audience now coming off as muffled voices. “No broken bones anyway.”

There’s a soft whirring somewhere that Louis can’t pinpoint. Decidedly, he ignores it and mounts Arthur with Felix’s help. There's a feeling of weightlessness too, as though he's flying over the moors and past his companions. Exhaustion from the day’s activities gets to him and Louis wondered if it would be a bad idea if he fell asleep right there.

_ \-- _

_ Louis lay under the sun, the cold grass his bed for the day. His eyes fluttered open, peaking at the serene sky and demanding a battle with the sun as to who shines the brightest. He’s not sure who won; his eyes remain open and the sun stands its ground.  _

_ Louis went with the wind, the cool summer breeze a refreshing contrast to the harsh cold of winter. Confused, Louis looked around, his battle with the sun on an abrupt stop. He’s met with the glorious sight of the grassland stretching until it finds its way to the horizon. Small beings chirrup and buzz in the vicinity and when he pays close attention, the soft flapping of wings soaring high are audible too. _

_ This time, the breeze was a little too strong for summer, rustling the grass blades in its wake and catching Louis’ attention. When he looked for the sound, there's a figure standing. Not looming or stalking, no. They're just there, too wrapped up in their present. The person stood with their back faced to Louis, their hair flirting with the cool breeze. Louis moved towards them with a gaze as curious as that of a cat. _

_ There's a feeling of familiarity, something akin to a relationship. Still, Louis cannot tell who this person is, except that they have great hair, brown strands glowing crimson under the sunlight. The person in question looked over their shoulder as though they sensed Louis’ presence, sending a mischievous smirk his way. It's a small action, a curious one making Louis take wider steps; wanting to meet this person at the earliest. _

_ When he finally gets there, the person turns to Louis, smiling. It's his own reflection that was smiling at him. _

_ This Louis smiled so wide with a sparkle in their eyes, like the river reflecting the sunlight on a tranquil morning. Louis did not remember the last time a smile like that graced his lips.  _

_ The Earth held onto Louis with it's gravity yet Louis gravitated to his reflection. He reached out, a slight shake in his fingers, daring to touch this person who seemed so much like himself but not. _

_ In the span of two blinks, he’s gone.  _

_ Louis’ eyes widened, “what?” _

_ He stepped back and looked around. There's no man here, no friend, no stranger. _

_ Out of the corner of his eye, Louis saw movement. He turned in a swift motion hoping it's the same man. Instead he’s presented with a bow and an arrow lying there on the grass. His curious gaze quickly turned searching, looking over the expanse of the large field hoping to find some clue about the unattended bow and arrow. _

_ Louis searched in vain, gaze flicking in every direction until it landed back on the bow. He picked it up along with the arrow, it's weight holding Louis to the ground. He strings the bow then goes on to push the nock of the rigid arrow on the string. _

_ A target was drawn on a tree facing him. Louis pulled the string, the index finger under his chin, and aligned the arrow with the target. Taking a deep breath, Louis released the string. _

_ Bull’s-eye. _

_ \-- _

Visions of the field fade away. The arrow on the target is replaced by a white screen. Without a warning, Louis’ eyes flew open; gone is his bright opponent that stood its ground so profoundly.

There’s some shuffling next to him. “My lord.”

Louis rushed to get up but the pain in his head was far stronger than his will to sit upright. The footman moved in reflex towards Louis, telling him that the doctor had instructed him to lie down.

“What happened?”

“You had a fall, my lord and fainted,” the footman fussed over Louis. It was nothing out of the ordinary but the earl’s blackout only intensified the footman’s intent.

“Is there anything you need, my lord?” the footman asked when Louis sat up.

“Who brought me here?”

“T’was one of those gentlemen, Mr. Styles.”

Taylor rushed in through the doors, hands flailing wildly at the sight of his master up and moving about. “My lord, you should be resting!”

A bottle of potion is then handed to Louis. “Mrs. Meed has said it will help ease the pain,” Taylor said as Louis scrunched his nose at the bitter taste of the liquid.

Louis rubbed his temples as he sat on a diwan. The pain was as acute as ever, piercing. The thought of being carried to his room by another man was embarrassing; it would have been different had he been conscious. 

“Has the gong been rung yet?” Louis asked.

“No, my lord.” James answered dutifully. “Shall I tell Mr. Parker that you'll be having dinner in your room tonight?” the footman kneeled down, rubbing some oil on Louis’ feet.

Louis sighed contently, hand reaching up to caress the cheek of the man kneeling in service. “That's so thoughtful of you, James.”

The footman beamed at the praise, happy to assist his master in any way he could.

\--

The day had run long and Louis was exhausted. He had been in preparation for the hunt but the embarrassing fall was an unwelcome surprise. He had made sure to thank his servants for being incredibly adjusting with the schedule. After a relaxing warm bath, Louis had asked James to set up tea in the library and requested Mr. Styles to join him. James had faltered at the order, then did as he was told to do so.

Harry, however, was conflicted. He wasn't a least bit surprised when the earl asked him for tea later in the evening. Except, he had never been in the acquaintance of someone so high in the hierarchy of the English society. Not since he had renounced his knighthood.

Nevertheless, Harry arrived at the library dressed in his best attire, that being yesterday’s clothes that Taylor had been generous enough to wash and press for him, to meet his host. The library was anything but a large open space with numerous books stacked up. It was an extensive collection, perhaps the largest Harry has seen.

Fire sizzled in the fireplace, painting the room in a warm golden hue. A soft thump sounded in the distance and Harry let himself in to investigate. His host was sat hunched near the window, as if searching for something. A small coffee table was arranged in the far corner and a few chairs sat facing the French windows. Moonlight littered in through them and gave a clear view of the other wing of the manor.

Harry cleared his throat, announcing his presence.

“Mr. Styles, I’m so pleased you could join me,” the earl stood hastily and gestured at the settee.

Harry followed the earl and sat across him. James, the footman who had delivered him the earl’s message had come over to serve tea. Louis expressed his gratitude to Harry for saving him, He also requested Harry to stay for dinner and Harry graciously accepted.

This was the only time Harry could take his time to look at the man sitting in front of him. His eyes followed the shadows of the earl’s lashes as they fluttered, the curve of his lips as he took sips from his tea cup, the way his eyes shone under the glow of firewood. Harry was fascinated by his beauty. It was not hard to acknowledge that the earl of beautiful, perhaps one of the most beautiful people Harry had the fortune to meet. 

Perhaps Harry was not subtle with his gaze which caught the earl’s attention, prompting him to blush under Harry's attention. Harry had to remind himself that the earl was a married man, with a loving husband and a happy marriage. Harry had never been at the receiving end of affection this intimate. The only affection known to him came from his mother and someone who was now no more; Harry decided a little bit of affection, even that of a friend would not be bad.

Harry discovered that the earl was a pleasant companion, ever so grateful to him. After the earl had concluded the tale of the current detective story he was reading, Harry was prompted to talk about his work.

“However do you cope with it, Mr. Styles? It must be unsettling,” Louis asked wide eyed. As far as Harry’s work was concerned, he refrained from talking about it to anyone. The horrors of crime were not one to be messed with. He stood up as flashes of bodies beaten up, some alive and some lifeless flowed through his mind. He walked over to the French windows, abandoning the tea cups and plates of cake crumbs. He rested his hand on the cool glass, hoping the cool surface would erase the images in his mind.

It didn't.

The frost was settling on the yews outside; he thought it symbolic.

“I must apologize, it was never my intention to-”

Harry cut off Louis, “yes it is, most of the time.”

After a pause, Louis said, "How terrible it must be for the loved ones."

They stood in silence watching the extensive garden in front of them turn harsh under the grim cold of December. Though the room was warm, Harry shivered as his mind flickered back to the images of the time he first witnessed a murder; he was but of ripe age. He had run over the fields, letting the mud stain his trousers with such carelessness. Excitement thrummed through his veins at the thought of his mother smiling at him when he would show her his first wages. All the labor, pain, hard work and dedication worth of a month had run cold within a few seconds. Everything had come crashing down.

"The concept of falling in love with someone is very foreign to me," Louis whispered, eyes never leaving Harry's. 

For Harry, it almost felt like a confession. "Why is that? Don't you believe in love?" 

"I do," Louis said in a dismissive tone. "However, I don't believe in falling in love with someone. So much that I'd ever want to risk everything for them, so much that they'd be the force binding me to this world. It's naïve.” 

“I believe in it.” It was the single most thing Harry could ever say without hesitating.

“You seem like the kind of person who would risk everything for someone you'd love.” 

“I suppose I'm too naïve then?” Harry teased.

“Hmm. I suppose you are.” As if mulling over his words, he continued, “I'm not apologizing.”

“I didn't expect you to.” A small smile played its way onto Harry’s lips and just like that the tension in the air was gone. The frost had started to settle on the glass now, making their view of the garden blurry. Unconsciously, Harry rubbed the glass with his sleeves.

“What?” Harry asked full of mirth when Louis wrinkled his nose.

Louis laughed, as if it wasn't obvious. 

Curtains flew wildly from the window across them; someone had left them open. Silhouettes appeared from behind the curtains. From the shadows, Harry could tell that it was a private moment of lips and bodies touching. Unspoken as they stood, Louis moved to leave but Harry was too invested in it. He wanted to witness the scandal, wanted to watch two lovers get lost in love. Though it seemed inappropriate Harry caught on Louis’ wrist, stopping him successfully. They stood behind the blurred glass, watching the shadows get lost in passion. Light from the candles shone, effectively exposing the faces of the nameless shadows and for the second time in the last hour, Harry felt himself grow cold.

Appalled, he looked at Louis. His face that was once glowing in the orange hue had now grown cold. It was the face of a man who had been betrayed.

“Louis,” Harry reached out, hand hung awkwardly in the air.

Nothing could get Louis to talk about it now. It was only natural that he left, fast on his feet as sobs escaped his lips. Harry stood there, perplexed; watching Louis' retreating figure.

\--

Dinner was a tedious affair. The food was delicious, perfect to every morsel. Harry made a point to express his thanks to the cook for a scrumptious dinner as such. The clatter of cutlery was barely audible over the booming voice of Mr. Fairfax. Though he was seated next to Louis, Harry could hear him from across the table as he bragged on about a particular pheasant he had chanced upon during his stay at the Pembroke. 

On his right, Lady Catherine raved about how the countryside contrasts with the loud Americas. Harry would be more intrigued about it had he not witnessed the look of betrayal on Louis. Every now and then, he'd ask a question about the Americas to keep Lady Catherine going on, which he found particularly easy since he's never been there.

"Mr. Styles, do you believe in the dead?" She asked abruptly. 

The spoon in Harry's hand clattered into the bowl, spilling some of its contents on his shirt. No sooner did it happen than a footman was to his side, diligently cleaning the little stain. Harry's cheeks flushed, embarrassed at his own antics.

When he looked back, Lady Catherine's expression had not changed. Nor did it seem disturbing to the dinner party as they all seemed to be enjoying their hearty meal. It seemed she was genuinely asking Harry about the dead; which was a very unnerving dinner conversation. Harry was left in a dilemma of how to answer this question, he couldn't comprehend what the question could even mean.

"Mr. Styles, Louis tells me you work for the police," Robert said, effectively distracting Harry from Lady Catherine.

At his mention, Harry's gaze flicked to Louis. "Yes." He then added, "a detective, if you will." When he looked back at Robert, his familiar eyes were already staring at him. Nothing friendly about it.

_ Did Robert know? _

Perhaps it was rude on their part but neither Harry nor Robert pushed the conversation forward. Both indulged in their food, and not in the conversation that would dig up the ghosts of the past.

As dinner concluded, the men retired to the parlor in favor of drinks and cards.

“Won't you be joining us, Mr. Styles?” Fairfax asked. Harry simply nodded in response when he caught sight of Louis slipping away and outside. Just as Harry was about to follow him, Lady Catherine blocked his way.

“I do," she said and then turned away with such nonchalance, it sent chills down Harry’s spine.

\--

Harry wandered through corridors before he finally found Louis. The earl was sitting on a bench in the extensive garden, his shoulders slump as the winter air flew high. Harry shivered, rubbing his hands vigorously for the comfort of limited warmth, never getting used to the temperature winters brought along with them.

“Why are you here?” Louis broke the silence.

“The dinner was delicious,” Harry shuffled forward, taking a seat next to the earl. Harry did not look at the earl, nor did he dare to see if the earl was looking at him. Eyes set ahead, he contemplated bringing up what they both had witnessed in the library. But how does one even address the topic of infidelity without hurting them?

“Thank you.”

At that, Harry dared to look at earl only to find blue eyes staring back at him. Cheeks a lovely hue of pink; tempting Harry to caress them. Instead Harry took off his coat and held it out for the earl. The earl accepted it graciously, a small smile playing on his lips as he wrapped himself in the coat.

They were sat too closely to be called companions— Louis’ leg brushed against Harry’s, sending sparks all over his body. He wondered how it would feel if he moved just a bit, enough to let their hands touch.

“Thank you,” Louis whispered, leaning in slightly.

Harry spotted the various freckles on Louis’ face, counting them.  _ Beautiful,  _ he thought.

Louis leaned in further, enough that Harry felt Louis’ breath on his lips.

Harry swallowed.

"Did you know?" Harry asked when he finally mustered enough courage.

Silence echoed. Louis moved away.

"Did I know that my husband had illicit relations with a maid in  _ my  _ house?" The earl's once warm blue eyes now looked at Harry icily, his tone matching the coldness of the weather. "No I didn't." 

The earl stood to walk inside the manor. Harry rushed next to him, "I'm sorry."

"I do not want your pity, Mr. Styles. Pity is for the weak, the desolate. And  _ I  _ am none."

Harry was left speechless and for the second time, he watched Louis walk away. His stride contrasted from hours ago, when he had felt betrayed, now defeated. 

Louis walked away and Harry let him.

\--

Sleep is one of the things Louis cherishes the most. Being the husband of an earl brings him not only many privileges that he lavishly enjoys but also the burden of many responsibilities. Responsibilities that require him to stay alert and calm throughout the day. That asks of him to be transparent to the world while still burying secrets deep within him, lest someone took advantage of it. Of  _ him _ .

This particular night though, Louis had trouble falling asleep. Twisting and turning in his bed, as a futile effort of falling asleep. Images of Robert with the maid haunted him every time he closed his eyes. 

Restless, he sat upright. Perhaps a drink would calm him down. The moonlight being his only source of light, Louis looked around for the glass of water that Taylor always kept on his nightstand. Bare feet softly touched the carpet below, still sending chills down Louis' spine. The white curtains blew furiously gravitating Louis towards them. The moon was still high, it wasn't that late. Looking over the garden, Louis spotted a figure hunched near the yew hedges.

Deciding to find out who it was, Louis walked out of his room and out into the garden. Once in the garden, he looked back at the manor that stood eerily among the trees, the fog a curtain between the ground and top floors. Shuddering, Louis rubbed his hands in an effort to warm up. The eagerness of finding the shadow figure had him forgetting his shawl.

Looking in the direction as earlier, Louis saw the figure still there. Cautiously, he walked in the direction, eyes not wavering from it. He didn't know where he got the courage, but his cold hand rested against the shoulder of the figure, urging them to turn around.

"Mr. Styles!" Louis gasps.

Harry yelped at the contact, sufficiently scaring Louis.

"Good heavens sir! Lord Gillingham you gave me a death fright!"

"My apologies," Louis laughed despite himself. It was indeed hilarious to watch a policeman be so alarmed. "Is there something you were looking for or do you indulge in late night strolls looking for an adventure?

Mr. Styles blushed at the insinuation, shaking his head eagerly in a no. "No, my lord-"

"I insist, please call me Louis," the earl interrupted

"Louis, only if you call me Harry," Mr. Styles paused. "Louis," he said more confidently this time, "I was in my room when I heard a shrill sound piercing my ears and came out here to investigate. Did you hear it too?"

"No." Louis watched as Harry's gaze turned at the manor behind him.

"It's late Louis, I shall walk you inside."

The eerie cold disturbed Louis as the night extended into the sky unsettling him further. The sky above him felt wicked. Louis followed, grateful for some company. Once inside, Louis led them round the staircase and towards the kitchen, their path lit with the help of a candelabra Harry had picked up on their way.

"Why are we going to the kitchen?" asked Harry.

Louis looked at him under the candlelight glow. "Water," he croaked.

"Let me," said Harry and asked Louis to wait till he returned.

The night grew sinister the longer Louis waited. Finally, Harry arrived, balancing a jar in one hand and the candelabra in the other.

They walked in silence to Louis' room, arms brushing often. Upon reaching Louis’ room, Harry offered the jar to Louis.

"Goodbye Harry." A smile was graced on Louis' lips.

"Goodbye," said Harry. He took Louis’ hand and pressed a chaste kiss. His touch as gentle as the autumn breeze that beckons the dead leaves.

Heart beating erratically, Louis closed the door. The night's terrors were now replaced by cool grass and green eyes. After taking a sip of water from the glass on the table, Louis walked across the room towards the bed. The moon was setting slowly, still illuminating the room slightly. The wind blew out the candles making the room a dark shell. Familiarity urged Louis forward to the bed, only to stumble and fall over, spilling his drink on the ground.

A thud sounded and Louis groaned in pain. He had managed to injure his head again, this time the front. Pushing his palms on the ground, Louis stood up. His feet touched something fleshy and hands seemed sticky, the moonlight insufficient to know what was on the ground.

Mr. Styles had barged in with a candelabra, "Louis!"

Startled Louis turned around. Mr. Styles' face visibly relaxed on seeing him, only to become one of a shocked one when he looked down. Confused, Louis looked at himself. His willowy nightshirt, once bright white was now smeared crimson, his hands bloody. Robert lay on the ground as blood drained out of him.

Death had come to Gillingham Hall this Christmas.

“Robert!” Louis shouted his husband’s name and stumbled back.

Harry, quick on his feet, was there to catch him before he fell over. That's what witnessing crimes does to you. You get so immune to the gruesome reality of death that even though the memories haunt you in sleep, yet the shock of it never catches you.

With the help of the candle light, Harry found a shawl, quickly covered Louis and sat him on the bed.

”The servants will be up soon and so will the guests,” Louis looked at Harry. “Mr. Styles? What am I to do now?” The earl looked crestfallen, so different from earlier when Harry's single touch had him blushing like a blooming rose.

“I’m afraid there's nothing more to do now until sunrise,” Harry spoke with authority.

Louis could not be in the same room as his dead husband. Seeing as there were still a few hours for sun rise, Harry escorted Louis to his room, unable to think of a better alternative.

As Harry watched Louis lull to sleep, his mind wandered to the death at hand. 

A murder had happened.

The Earl of Gillingham was dead.

\--

Gillingham Hall was in mourning. Happiness had faded into sorrow. Servants tethered to work, hushes of last night's events in tow. The bright morning did nothing to calm the storm that was passing the manor.

Harry watched as the daylight peered in and onto the lifeless body of the earl, skin pale. Crouching next to the body, he examined closely. The fitted carpet had absorbed the blood. Carefully, Harry opened the buttons of the tailcoat, and then the now red shirt. Robert’s chest was littered with small stab wounds, wounds too small to be that of a knife. Harry turned Robert’s body over to examine further. He found that Robert had taken a hit on his head too. The wound was seemingly blunt.

A knock startled Harry from his thoughts - James. His eyes were trained on the floor, face paled.

“James?”

"Mr. Styles!" he said, voice laced with fear, gaze still on the body. "Apologies sir, if I have interrupted you. I- the breakfast is served sir. You might be hungry." 

"Thank you, James," Harry replied sincerely.

"Si-sir, his lordship is barefoot."

Harry's gaze flicked to Robert's feet.

"Why would he be barefoot during this awful cold?" 

Harry had no answer to give that would provide a sufficient explanation.

\--

The sweet scent of jam filled the stuffy morning air just as Harry sat down for breakfast, taking him back to the old days. Days when waking up to a simple breakfast of bread and jam that his mother would make would be the most delicious meal he'd taste. Only, he had to let go of this luxurious treat a few years later. After all these years, the memory is still there and burned bright in the back of his mind.

The table was next to empty, his only companion being Lady Catherine The temptation to ask about Louis was too strong to resist. However, Lady Catherine beat him to it.

“Will you be staying here for the investigation Mr. Styles? I hear that you Scotland Yard gentlemen are quite the sleuths.”

How Lady Catherine could speak of the matter with such a tone of nonchalance, Harry couldn't fathom.

"I'm afraid not," said Harry. He took a sip of his coffee and scrunched his nose, it being too sweet for his liking. "I'm required at Scotland Yard."

"Do you consider yourself a great sleuth then?" Her eyes as blue as the summer sky, shone with mirth.

Harry is a sleuth. Perhaps one of the best in his department but he doesn't consider himself a great one. Not when he hasn't been able to solve the single most crime that's haunted him forever.

"Saying yes would be vanity. I would much rather like to know your thoughts."

The answer seemed to have the desired effect Harry had wanted. Lady Catherine laughed, her cheeks rosy. Flattery has always worked.

\--

Lady Catherine had caught up to Harry just as he rounded the manor. Upon learning that he was out on a walk, she suggested they go into the village together as she had some business to do. 

“What a fine day it is. Wouldn't you say so, Mr. Styles?” said Lady Catherine as she and Harry strolled through the village

“Indeed, my lady,” replied Harry, trying to keep up with the pace. 

“One should often leave the confinements of that big house, don't you think? A lovely day like this deserves to be enjoyed,” she hummed, pleased and then continued, “I’m afraid my cousin does not share the same interests as I.” 

She then said, “I wish he would leave that wretched house. Surely he wouldn't want to sleep in the same room where Robert was found. It's ghastly!” It was as if something had changed, something she finally understood.

Harry did not want to pry. “I agree. Perhaps he can visit your parents,” he suggested.

“Perhaps. The change of scenery would do him good.”

They had now arrived at the post office. Lady Catherine went in to do her business, leaving Harry with his thoughts.

Harry’s work here was done. He had overstayed his welcome and now it was time for him to leave. He had been mulling over it when Lady Catherine came out of the tiny office. She looked positively relieved. For what, Harry couldn't say.

“Apparently there’s a bazaar in the square!” Lady Catherine said with glee.

“Would you like to go?”

“Oh but I wouldn't want to trouble you, Mr. Styles,”

“Dash it! I would love to join you,” said Harry, and true it was. 

Within a short span of time, not only was he well acquainted with the Lady, he also considered her a friend. Her gentle but sly demeanor served as a reminder of his long lost companion, the bearer of his promise.

The square was bustling. Products were being shown off by merchants to men and women alike. Children ran with excitement, laughter spilling out with joy. Various shops and stalls were installed. Jeweller, hatter, shoe merchants, hosiery, dress maker, chemist; you name it. It was an interesting sight, one that had everyone smiling.

“What do you think of this hat, Mr. Styles?” Lady Catherine asked, holding a blue hat trimmed with white lace and ribbons. It was quite pretty, and Harry said so.

It was then that Harry spotted James on the stall adjacent to theirs, the watchmaker. He was pocketing a watch, Robert’s watch to be precise. Harry could recognize that watch anywhere. What troubled him was how did James find it?

Lady Catherine had moved on to the next stall, urging Harry to come along. After spending plenty of time at the tea stall, book seller and the lace shop, they decided to return to the manor.

Their walk back was as pleasant as the weather, a nostalgia of the night they first met lingered in the air.

“You know, you are wrong,” said Lady Catherine as they walked the grounds of the manor.

“About what?” asked Harry, intrigued.

She laughed but there was no humor behind it. “You think Louis killed him, don't you?"

"It's okay. Louis seems a very plausible suspect and I'm sure if it were some other detective, he would've put Louis behind bars already. But you, you didn't. Why?" She turned to Harry.

They were just a few yards away from the manor now, the same spot Louis had found Harry that fateful night. Harry looked up at the manor looming over them with its full might and at once his mind was transported back to the conversation they had had. The way Louis had blushed at the gentle touch of their hands was crystal clear in his mind.

When Harry didn't answer, Lady Catherine continued, "Mr. Styles, I want to ask something of you," she said urgently.

"People talk, Harry," she pressed, giving no regard to propriety. "I want you to find who did this. I want you to find out who murdered Robert."

Harry had never felt himself go cold that quickly.

\--

Harry was bent over near the kitchen table when someone shrieked behind him.

“Goodness! Mr. Styles! You scared me.” 

Harry stood up, cheeks flushed at his situation. "Mrs. Reeves," he acknowledged.

Mrs. Reeves was a middle aged woman with droopy eyes that gave the impression of being exhausted. She was a distant cousin of the Tomlinsons, widowed at a young age, and the housekeeper of the Gillingham Hall for years.

Usually a calm woman, Mrs. Reeves seemed anxious today.

“Is something the matter, Mrs. Reeves?” asked Harry, concerned.

Mrs. Reeves shook her head, “we’re short a maid, sir. With the funeral, the work gets too much for the servants.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Perhaps I can be of any assistance?” asked Harry.

Scandalized at the proposition, Mrs. Reeves said, “None, sir.”

Harry chuckled to ease the tension, raising his hands in surrender before Mrs. Reeves popped a nerve.

Growing up Harry never cared for the upper English class. It seemed that wealth, prospects and beauty were all that really mattered. In Harry's opinion, it was shallow on one’s part to judge someone else based on their prospects. Of course, not many people agreed with Harry’s ideology, called him a people’s man, they did. 

Except Sybil. Having her right by his side, almost made him forget his knighthood. Though hereditary, his title, Harry had to endure the grandeur of it. With Sybil's demise, died his will to put up appearances. He was free to move to a new town and start over. And he did.

“Poor Blanche, she’s taken ill. She has been ill for over 2 days now,” murmured Mrs. Reeves. “Would you like some tea, Mr Styles?” she then asked.

The prospect of the warm liquid sounded tempting but Harry had other things to deal with. He thanked her and briskly walked towards his room. 

_ People talk Harry. _

What could Lady Catherine possibly have meant by that?

He was in the hallway, just near the salon when he heard two maids talking in the library. Harry stopped in his tracks, hands digging in his pockets.

"Cold blooded murder, Jane, it is," one of them said.

"Surely you don't believe that! Our lordship could never commit such a vile crime. To even think of it blasphemy!"

_ Were they talking about Louis? _

"Oh but Jane the things I have heard!" cried the maid. "I have heard that our lordship was having illicit relations with someone. Of which was known to Lord Tomlinson."

_ What? _

"Wherever do you hear such news?" asked Jane.

"Oh but Jane think! Even if the rumors in the village are nothing but lies, adultery has been the destroyer of many relations. It is enough to want someone dead."

Harry left at that, not wanting to hear what Jane's reply would be. If Louis' staff was beginning to question Louis, scrutinizing him, how would the village fare then? Did they really see him as a monster?

He could not leave Louis in this predicament, not when Louis trusted him. Begrudgingly, Harry decided he would have to stay.

Mulling over his thoughts, Harry sped up to his room. He had a funeral to attend.

\--

The funeral had been quite an affair. The Earl of Gillingham was dead and many people had come to pay their respects. Harry lingered in the back after he had paid his respects. Quietly, he watched from afar. His line of sight always ended up on Louis.

Louis, in his state of mourning, looked smaller than usual. Yet, his face was stoic of any expression, lips sealed tight of any words. The ambiance in the church reminded Harry of his tragic past, the day he had begged God to take away the pain before deciding to end it. It is not something Harry would discuss over a cup of tea.

Before his thoughts gained the opportunity to become a burden, he slipped away to the backyard of the church. The cool metal bench was no luxury but enough to numb the pain bubbling inside him. Harry let his eyes close, bearing witness to the events of the past before sleep took over.

It's dark when Harry wakes up. Raindrops pattered on his face, waking him from his slumber. He sat up, tilting his neck to get rid of kinks and looked around, only to find himself alone.

The church stood heavily behind him. Now that the funeral was done with, Harry did not want to stay in the place a moment longer. Instead of going inside the church, Harry took the route around it, passing the cemetery on his way.

There, in the middle of the graveyard stood a man. The silhouette was not hard to recognize, given that this man had been the object of Harry's observation for the better part of the funeral. 

The man in mourning stood below the dark grey sky, head held high as raindrops pelted all over him. Harry could not understand why Louis would stay back late. If Louis had known along, why would he mourn over somebody who hurt him, betrayed him and broke his trust?

A sense of melancholy washed over him as he watched Louis stand over Robert's grave. The struggle between protecting Louis and finding out the truth was a hardship and Harry was not sure how long he would be able to ignore his feelings without letting them get in the way.

It might have been recklessness on Harry's part or maybe Louis had known all along. His gaze left the headstone of his late husband to look at Harry, a chilling smile across his face. He stood there and held his gaze with Harry, as if challenging him to come over and it was enough to make Harry leave.

He has seen the many horrors of deaths, paid witness to the aftermath of crimes. But there was something about being held under scrutiny with a gaze so cold and a smile so chilling that it made Harry's heart sped up. 

His breath caught up when he stopped near the grounds of Gillingham Hall. His mind racing with questions. Questions whose answers were hard to find, let alone justify them. Determined, Harry headed towards Louis' bed chamber.

Answers needed justification too.

\--

Harry understood how offensive it would be to snoop around Louis’ room but he had more pressing matters at hand. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that  _ somebody  _ knew  _ something  _ . If Louis really had known all along about, chances were that he could find something incriminating. He was yet to receive a word from Scotland Yard and he wasn't waiting for it. He needed to know before the authorities took over. Harry had to find it before anyone else did.

Swiftly, Harry checked the drawers and cupboard, all conveniently unlocked. None of them had any incriminating evidence that suggested Louis' involvement in the murder. All the cabinets' content too mundane to seem suspicious. A golden trunk stood out in the room. Harry gravitated towards it but alas it was locked. Frustrated, Harry ran a hand through his damp hair. He would have to find the keys for it. It didn't take him too much to conclude that the keys would be under Louis’ possession. 

Come night, Harry found himself lingering outside Louis’ room. Harry was intrigued by the white ribbon that hung from his shirt, twirling it around his finger all the while trying to gather the courage to knock on Louis’ door. The door was ajar. Harry peeked in and saw Louis on his bed reading a book. Heart thudding loudly, Harry knocked hesitantly. Louis looked up from his book.

"I can't sleep," said Harry, hand still twirling the white ribbon.

Louis had now shut the book close and dropped it aside. “Come in.”

Seeing Harry hovering near the bed, Louis beckoned him closer, making him sit next to him, “come here.”

“Harry,” Louis said, hand coming to rest over Harry's fidgeting ones. Harry looked up just as Louis tucked away a wild curl. The intimacy of the moment was unnerving, so much that Harry was afraid his heart might explode. 

It didn't help much when Louis leaned in, his eyes searching Harry’s for any doubts that may linger. Any hesitation on his part was suppressed when Harry let their lips touch. A kiss that’s barely there.

Harry pulled away, feeling overwhelmed by the soft touch of Louis’ lips.

They say one can resist everything but temptation. The desire that leads to the passionate pursuit of climax that has built and broken empires. So what was stopping Harry from giving in to the temptation of Louis Tomlinson?

“Come here,” Louis repeated and Harry did. Ready to give in.

Louis took up everything. His presence, his touch overwhelmed Harry in the best way. Kissing Louis was intoxicating, touching him was exhilarating. Being with him was freeing.

Louis grabbed Harry's hand, guiding it to his waist as he climbed onto Harry's lap, hands finding their way into his hair. Harry held on to him, hands exploring the warm skin beneath the night shirt.

Louis pulled on Harry's hair, effectively exposing his neck more. He left kisses, biting the delicate skin just enough.

“Harry, I need you. Don't deny me this time,” Louis whispered, his voice hoarse.

Every thought of propriety was now buried deep within him. Harry wasn't going to deny Louis of this.

“How do you want me?” 

Louis dragged his lips from Harry's neck to his ears and whispered, “in me.”

Harry watched with lust as Louis sat back and undressed himself of the flimsy clothing. He was overcome with desire as each part of Louis skin was exposed to him. Louis was breathtakingly beautiful and for now, in this moment, he was all Harry's.

Louis tugged on the white ribbons of Harry's shirt, an urgent plea. Now naked, Harry let his hands wander. Touching the warmth expanse of Louis' skin, feeling each breath that filled him and left him. Hooded blue eyes and flushed skin; Louis was a sight to behold. 

Harry rubbed himself against Louis as he kissed him, hands dipping further below Louis’ waist.

After a few fervent kisses, Louis started getting restless. “On your back,” he panted.

Harry was quick to comply. Louis crawled over him, sitting himself snug on Harry. In that moment, Harry wondered if Louis saw what he saw. Did he see a mess of curls, bitten lips, a flushed face or a man with desire burning inside?

Louis took hold of Harry's hand and placed them on his arse, squeezing himself from atop Harry's hands. Harry's cock twitched a Louis grinded above him. Nothing had ever aroused Harry the way Louis did.

Harry sighed in bliss as Louis leaned down to kiss at Harry’s jaw, mouth, eyes, anywhere he could reach. 

Louis’ hot press of kisses trailed down Harry’s chest and to his belly. Harry wondered if Louis felt how aroused Harry was.

Louis pushed Harry’s shirt up, revealing him. Harry was hard against his stomach. Louis kissed it first, then took Harry in his hand with a slow drag of his hand. Harry groaned as Louis reached for his oils nearby and generously coated him.

“W-wait,” Harry said as Louis lined himself to Harry.

“I should- the oils… what if I hurt you?”

“Trust me, darling, I'm fine,” Louis said and mounted Harry.

Louis let out a soft cry as Harry filled him. Harry's hands immediately came to rest on Louis’ hips, holding him steadily.

Harry now understood what drove men to fight wars and lose their minds in the name of love. Harry couldn't put into words but he was here. Here, surrounded by Louis’ heat, he felt at home.

Louis moved slowly, taking every bit of Harry with him. Harry thrust upwards and perhaps he did right because that's when Louis cried out the loudest. “Harry!”

“That's it Louis, take me. I'm all yours, take me.” Harry thrust deeper while Louis matched his movements.

Louis clutched at Harry's shoulder, moaning high. His legs hurt but he continued to move faster, chasing the climax and eager to find that relief.

When his legs started quivering, Harry turned them over. Being handled by Harry this way only aroused Louis further. He wrapped his legs around Harry's waist, arching upward and grinding into Harry.

Harry pinned Louis’ hand with one hand over Louis’ head and held him to the bed with the other.

“Fuck! Harry!” Louis screamed out at a particular hard thrust. “Don't stop,” Louis panted, covering his face with his elbow, “spill inside me.”

“Fuck!” Harry cursed.

Harry leaned in to kiss Louis, the desperate need to be physically connected to him even though Harry was deep inside him was commanding.

“Touch me,” Louis whimpered between kisses. 

No sooner did Harry's fingers graze Louis, he was spilling onto his belly and on Harry's hand. Louis clenched around Harry reflexively and Harry followed, filling Louis in the best way.

\--

Harry watched as Louis’ body rose up and then down steadily, a soft confirmation that he was asleep. He looked peaceful, so different from the man who seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It made Harry's heart flutter in a way that reasons its source is affection for the man, but, were said affections strong enough to overpower his intentions?

Harry fought his bones that wanted to leave a kiss atop Louis' head, a gesture too intimate at the dead of night. Reluctantly Harry left Louis' side to search for the key. He distinctly remembered Louis taking it off before,  _ well _ , before things had escalated. He rummaged through the bedside table and then under the bed. Looked for it under their stray clothes hoping it'd have fallen on the ground.

"Is this what you're looking for?" Louis was sitting still on the bed, completely awake than he was before.

Harry struggled to form a coherent answer.

"All you had to do was ask." Louis did not sound angry but his face remained stoic, unreadable. "Take it, open it."

Harry stood there, speechless, as Louis walked over and gave him the key.

Louis took hold of Harry’s hand and walked them over to the trunk. Harry crouched down to insert the key in the key hole. His hands shook a bit, Harry blamed the cold air and his nude appearance. The trunk opened with a soft click as Harry twisted the key in.

_ One _

_ Two _

Harry breathed in deep before opening the trunk. 

There in the trunk, were perfectly placed a pair of boots. Boots that belonged to  _ Robert _ . Boots that were covered with a white substance.

Louis gasped at the sight. The only proper reaction Harry has received from Louis in the past few minutes.

"What is that? What is that doing in there?" Louis shrieked just as Harry picked up the boots.

He ignored Louis in lieu of looking closely at boots. He swiped a finger over it, collecting some residue of the white powdery substance. He looked under the boots, its sole shining bright with what Harry deduced to be an oily substance.

"Harry, what is that?" Louis presses again.

"You very well know what it is. These are Robert's boots. The ones that were missing from Robert’s body the night he was found but you know that all." Harry accused.

"Harry," Louis gasped, hands splayed over his exposed chest, "you have to believe me, I did not know about it."

"Do not lie to me Louis," Harry shakes his head.

"I am not! You have to believe me.”

"You knew your husband was having an affair!" Harry accused Louis. "You lied to me about it yet you tell me to believe you now? Who's to know you're not lying again?"

Louis was left speechless. “How did you know?”

“It is not of matter,” Harry closed the trunk, walking away from it and towards the door.

“Harry!” Louis cried. “Stop. Please don't go.” Louis hurried forward and stood in Harry's path.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Louis was confused.

“Yes. Only if you tell me the truth.”

Louis looked down, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yes, I knew. I knew my husband was fucking a maid and every night I slept with that secret buried in my chest.”

Harry was stunned at the vulgarity. Every word that Louis spat had come out from a place of resentment.

“Why did you lie to me then?” Harry stepped forward, hands itching to hold Louis, to comfort him.

“My staff, my people, I am not their beloved lord now. They think of me as a monster. I could not bear the thought of you loathing me as well.”

Harry's heart ached. Ever since he laid his eyes on Louis, befriended, he has only ever wanted to love him. How could he ever loath Louis when his love for him knew no bounds.

Louis sighed and walked back, sitting on the same bed they were making passionate love on a few minutes ago. “I know what Catherine has asked of you.”

“Do you want me to stay?” asked Harry.

“Would it be improper of me to say yes but for other reasons?”

Harry shook his head and knelt in front of Louis. He took Louis’ hands in his and met his gaze, “then answer this question of mine. Where did you go after the dinner, the night Robert was murdered?”

With solemn eyes and voice barely a whisper, Louis said, ”one ugly truth a time, darling.”

\--

The next morning word came from Scotland Yard. They saw it fit that Harry worked on the case as he was already here. As relieved as Harry was, he was anxious too. Last night, Louis’ confession had given him the answers he was looking for, only at the cost of raising more.

_ Where was Louis after dinner and before he met Harry in the garden late that night? _

It was imperative to know Louis' whereabouts before the murder and after dinner in order to prove his innocence.

Harry had been trying to come up with various scenarios that could provide Louis an alibi should the need arise, the letter from Scotland Yard still in his hand. It was then that Lady Catherine stormed in, slamming the doors wide open.

Startled, Harry yelped, dropping the envelope on the ground.

“Lady Catherine!” said Harry, hands flying to his chest.

Lady Catherine’s eyes held no remorse for scaring Harry. Instead, she marched at Harry, glaring at him. Harry's back hit the table as she crowded over him.

“What are you doing!” she gritted out.

It was no question. Harry knew this had to about Louis because he couldn't remember doing anything that would make Lady Catherine this furious.

“I asked you to look for the killer! Not frame Louis as one!”

“You’re still adamant on Louis being the killer, aren't you?” she accused Harry, digging her finger in his chest, before Harry could say anything.

She moved away then. A few seconds passed, then, she apologized “I am sorry, that was not very ladylike.”

Harry shook his head and then said, “I do not believe Louis is the killer.”

Lady Catherine’s eyes lit up like an excited child, “you don't?”

“I’m assuming Louis told you what I did,” said Harry, referring to the boots he found last night.

“Oh he did,” Lady Catherine wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Harry blushed; last night was truly one of the best night of his existence. Watching Louis come undone beneath him was a magical experience. What followed after, not so much.

“If I am to prove his innocence, I need to know the truth,” Harry justified.

“Certainly!,” Lady Catherine agreed. “However, the pursuit of truth needn't be paved by deceit.”

Harry looked out the window, Lady Catherine's words resting heaving in the air.

“I don't believe he did it,” Harry repeated when Lady Catherine joined him near the window.

A few moments later, Louis appeared in the garden with James in tow.

“He’s a devoted young chap, won't you say?” Lady Catherine praised James.

Harry watched as James presented Louis with a few flowers he had collected. Jealousy flared within him when Louis smiled and sniffed the flowers.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, confused. Aren't most servants, if not all, dedicated to their masters?

Lady Catherine turned away from the window and looked at Harry, amused. “Didn't you know? Louis was with James that night Robert was killed.”

\--

Every day, it seemed, brought a new piece of information for Harry. There was no denial that James was a credible footman, his devotion to Louis only seemed to prove it more. What irked Harry was just devoted was James to Louis? To what lengths would he go for his master?

After his conversation with Lady Catherine, Harry's agenda for the day was crystal clear. Find James’ intention. To do that, Harry had to converse with people who would know James - the staff. It was no coincidence that Louis was with James the night of the murder and that Harry found James pocketing Robert’s watch that day at the bazaar.

He had asked Fairfax to join him for a game of billiards, after overhearing the maids’ plans of dusting the games room.

Just as Harry had expected, two maids were already in the room getting on with their duties. At the sound of Harry’s footsteps, they turned around, instantly apologizing, “we’re sorry sir, we were told this room wouldn't be in use.”

From what Harry overheard from yesterday, he recognized the maid who apologized as Jane. The other, had the familiar hint of auburn hair and striking blue eyes. How could Harry ever forget that face, or Louis’ when they witnessed the act together that night.

“What is your name?” Harry asked.

“Jane, sir” she replied meekly.

“It's alright, Jane,” said Harry.

Then, he turned to the other maid and said, “Mr. Fairfax will be joining me soon. Arrange for us some drinks.”

The maid nodded in affirmation and left. Jane moved to follow her associate when Harry stopped her, “wait, Jane. I wish to ask you something.”

“Would this be about his lordship’s death?”

Harry nodded. “What did you think of him?”

“His lordship? I thought of him the same way every employee would think of their employer.”

This wouldn't do. Harry would have to strike a nerve.

“Jane,” Harry beckoned her to sit on a nearby chair, “do you know of the rumors in the village?”

She hesitated but then took a seat. “Yes sir,” she answered carefully.

“Do you believe them to be true?”

“Heavens! Sir, no.”

With a knock on the door, James entered the room, balancing a tray in his hand. Jane eyed him as he placed the tray on a table. Harry lit his cigar and took a long drag. 

After James left, Harry asked, “Is there something you wish to tell me, Jane? Something you might have found unusual or out of the ordinary?”

Jane pondered on Harry's question, her face a mirror of many emotions. “I saw James with his lordship - Lord Tomlinson, the night of the murder.”

“And?” Harry prompted.

Jane blushed, “they seemed quite intimate sir.”

Harry's heart was cut open. “Where?”

“In the servant quarters.”

“Thank you for your honesty.”

Jane nodded and was quick on her feet.

“One last question, what is the name of your associate?”

“Blanche.”

Fairfax entered as Jane left, a crafty smile on his face.

“I did not know you sought pleasure from maids.”

Harry took another drag of his cigar.

Fairfax poured himself a glass of madeira and twirled it around in his hand before taking a sip. “Since we are being honest here, I particularly like Blanche. Fiery hair, stunning eyes. You must have seen her around.”

Harry's ears perked up at Blanche’s mention. Jane‘s confirmation of Blanche helped Harry put two and two together. Perhaps it was a coincidence that Blanche would fall ill days after her lover was murdered. Perhaps, she took his brutal death to heart. Whilst Harry believed all these assumptions could possibly be one of the causes for sickness, the notion of her being pregnant was not impossible.

Behind Fairfax, Harry noticed a gentleman of lean built, polished, come in and into the parlor followed by James. Fairfax caught his sight.

“Ah! So he’s here then,” said Fairfax.

“Who?” asked Harry. 

“He, is what one would call a lawyer.” Fairfax passed a cue stick to Harry. “He’s here for the will,” Fairfax explained further.

“Will?”

Fairfax arranged the balls while Harry poured himself a glass.

“With Robert gone, Louis is the sole in charge of the estate,” Fairfax stated the obvious.

He aimed at the yellow ball and pocketed it. “Without an earl by his side, Louis will lose the estate.”

Harry was bewildered. “Why?”

It was his turn now. Harry hadn't had the penchant for sports like his peers did. The most he played was when it was an essential requirement. Like now. He aimed at the red pall, hitting it with much force than needed. The ball didn't pocket.

Fairfax grinned, “I forget you know nothing of this place.”

In that moment, Harry let it slip. “I was born here. I lived here all my life before the last five years.”

“Why did you move?” asked Fairfax curiously.

Harry skimmed over the subject, “with a title that I did not care about and no one to look after, I had nothing here. Adventure is fascinating.”

Harry drank the last of his madeira as Fairfax prepared to take his shot. Fairfax, it seemed, took great pride in his skills when it came to hunting, billiards and women. A man whose strength was masked by his stout figure, Fairfax lived by his principles of hedonism.

“Blast it!” Harry cursed when Fairfax pocketed the red ball.

Fairfax yawned, “you're terrible at this, my dear friend.”

Harry pouted as he poured himself another glass. Fairfax was right, he was terrible at this. However, there were two things excelled at - crime solving and archery.

His knighthood demanded him to be skilled at archery, and so Harry did. He would practice everyday with Sybil, her showing him the right stance till one day she couldn't.

One glass turned into many and soon they were intoxicated. Fairfax was fast asleep on the diwan, Harry yawned, sleep taking over him. Harry pushed himself on his feet, stumbling out of the games room and into the parlor. In his inebriated haze, Harry ran into a table, scattering it's contents. Sounds of glass crashing followed. Oh well.

Before Harry took the next step, there was someone helping him up.

“Heavens! Look at you.”

It was Louis. Harry blushed, embarrassed to be seen this way.

“Hold on to me, I'll take you up.”

The suggestion was astonishing, and scandalous if anyone might’ve heard.

Before Harry could process it, he was being hauled over by Louis and towards the stairs. Few staggering steps later, Harry felt the soft plush of the mattress underneath him.

“Wait,” he slurred. “This is your room.”

Sure Louis had someone to dress and undress him everyday but that didn't mean he was useless. He untied Harry’s boots and shoved them off. “Yes, Harry I am aware.”

“Why are we in your room?”

“Because it's nearer.” A lopsided smile graced Harry’s lips.

Louis draped a blanket over him, lit candles and drew the curtains knowing well enough it would get colder. When he moved to leave, Harry’s face fell. “Would you stay?”

Louis fish mouthed, then sat down on the arm chair. “Sleep, Harry.”

\--

Harry woke up the next morning to the sight of Louis curled up in an armchair. Last night events played through his mind in a flash, nausea mixed with the aftertaste of alcohol in his mouth.

He sat up and moved to the door, hoping to hear of what the ruckus happening downstairs was about. It was a wonder Louis slept through all the noise.

The four poster bed was grand ever, bathing in the rich color of green. It was then that Harry realized he’s never been here in broad daylight. Sultry nights being his only companion, and since yesterday, intoxicated ones as well.

Louis awoke when the fire in the fireplace died out with a crackle. Instead of acknowledging Harry who was standing in the middle of the room, or even walking up to him, Louis sat there, pulling his blanket even closer.

“I should apologize.” Harry broke the ice. “I am sorry,” Harry continued when Louis kept mum.

Harry felt a faint glimmer of hope when Louis stood, blanket falling to his feet. That glimmer only intensified when Louis walked towards him with purpose. When Louis walked right past him and out the door, it died down as quickly as it rose.

\--

Wheels clacked against the gravel ridden road as Harry bid Fairfax goodbye. Turns out James had misplaced one of his luggage, hence the commotion early morning. It was a short business trip, having promised Louis to come back at the earliest.

“My lord, is there something you would like me to do for you?” James asked Louis.

Harry's skin burned.

“No,” Louis said curtly and walked towards the gardens.

Harry followed.

“Are you cross with everyone?” Harry asked.

Louis paused his movements, then continued. Perhaps he did not expect Harry to follow him.

Harry caught up with Louis, glancing at him sideways. His black attire of mourning was crisp as the winter air, Harry thought it was a sin to look as gorgeous even in plain clothing.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said. “I've been naïve.”

Harry looked at Louis, puzzled. They arrived at a bench and sat down close, the heat of their bodies doing barely anything to provide warmth.

“Will you tell me the truth this time?” asked Harry.

“Only if you ask.”

“You were with James the night Robert was killed. Why?”

Every time, the thought of Louis and James spurred jealousy in Harry. Except this time, images of Louis breaking, being pleasured, only fueled Harry. His breeches tightened just a bit.

Louis looked down at Harry, amused. Harry blushed.

“I needed to feel something.”

Harry's heart ached. Yet, the voice inside him whispered,  _ you could have asked me _ . Harry almost said it out loud.

Louis laughed then. What was so funny? Had Louis read him? Was Harry this plain with his feelings for this boy?

“I'm losing my estate, Harry.” Louis’ voice was small, vulnerable.

“Robert made the will such that after his death, I cannot have the estate.”

“Fairfax told me of it.”

“Did he? How very diabolical of him,” Louis laughed bitterly. “it was he who suggested Robert change his will in terms of my inheritance,” Louis explained further.

In all honesty, Harry was not the least bit surprised.

“There must be some loophole,” Harry provided, hopeful.

“There is. I inherit the estate only when I am married to someone of noble birth.”

Harry was elated. Perhaps Louis could have his estate after all.

“Fairfax wants to marry me,” Louis said next.

And just like that, Harry's elation turned evaporated.

“Why?” asked Harry. Why would Fairfax marry the widower of his closest companion, not even a few days after he was killed?

“Why do you think Harry?

Harry put the pieces together. "For the estate."

Louis looked down at his feet, dangling in the air. "You must be horrible at your job," he seethed.

Harry was taken aback at this outburst.

"You're oblivious to everything that goes around you! How do you solve crimes? Do you even do that or take the credit for someone else's hard work?"

Harry saw red, he stood immediately.

"You don't see it even now, do you?" Louis asked, this time softly.

Harry was puzzled. What was Louis talking about?

Louis sighed and spoke before Harry could. "Last night, you were intoxicated because your drinks were mixed."

"What?" Why would anyone want to intoxicate Harry?

"James and Fairfax did it." Louis replied conveniently.

"Why would they intoxicate me? What would they possibly gain from it?" Harry's mind boggled. He recollected all the things he'd done ever since he came to Gillingham Hall. Things enough to gain someone's wrath.

"You are a sleuth Harry, aren't you? Solve the puzzle then," Louis challenged.

Harry's brain turned fuzzy, analyzing every move, every statement said. Why  _ him  _ ?

"Me," he breathed. “Because you wanted to marry me for the estate."

\--

Harry didn't believe in love at first sight. He believed in lust. Being infatuated with someone from the beginning his eyes were on them. And that, for Harry, was Louis.

The first time Harry saw Louis, he felt breathless, charmed. The moonlight had washed over his face, and Louis looked ethereal. It was then that Harry knew he would do anything for this man.

Then came the day when Louis took the fall. Harry had rushed to save him, every thought and conversation discarded. Louis had thanked him over tea and by then Harry was falling.

Harry was captivated by Louis' beauty, yet his real beauty was hidden, kept safe from the abominable realities of the world. For him, Louis was an enigma and he would spend millennia to know him.

Robert's death served as a spider web in Harry's life. He got tangled in it, no escape anywhere. For better or worse, Harry was here. Too invested to leave Louis to fend for himself. If helping Louis meant getting engaged to him, then Harry would do so.

And so it happened. The next day, Harry would propose to Louis and Louis would accept. The moon would witness the start of their story, albeit a crooked one. It would ask the winter air to nip at their skins so that they may use it as an excuse to veil their blushed faces.

\--

Contrary to Lady Catherine’s insisting, the celebration of engagement had been a small affair.

“My dear cousin! It has to be big. Not everybody gets married twice!” she had said, twirling in her gown. It seemed that this newfound happiness, though an incidental one, had pushed away the gloom that had become a part of Gillingham Hall.

Now though, Louis enjoyed the quiet. After the rush of happiness that had followed all day, Louis was worn out. Louis had heard of people marrying for love and not money. If a person’s prospects were agreeable, they would be a better match than one who had nothing to give but love. The society was driven by the provocative desire of being the wealthiest of all.

Winter was settling down now. The harsh cold morphing into the blossom of early spring. The engagement provided Louis with a new sense of hope. Things were starting to get normal around him. He no longer heard hush whispers in hallways that accused him of a murder, he didn't have restless nights haunted by the ghastly image of Robert’s bloody corpse. He couldn't contain the glee of not having to get married to Fairfax.

Louis picked up his bow from where it lay under a tree, along with his arrow bag. He fastened the quiver to his shoulders and waist. Harry was sitting not too far away, along with Lady Catherine; James hovering over them. They haven't talked since then, James and Louis. Louis supposes the lad understood what he did was wrong. That, or he despises Louis for eternity.

Louis does not care for it. Not when Harry is right there, ready to change his life to save Louis’.

He grabbed an arrow from behind, aiming at the target that Taylor had set up for him, and met Harry's eyes. Harry smiled encouragingly, Louis pulled the drawstring. He’s a second away from releasing it, letting the arrow meet the target, when he heard the familiar rattling of the wheels. He relaxed the string in favor of turning around to look at the source. 

The carriage doors opened, revealing Fairfax. He came like he left, with an air of arrogance and hubris.

“Do accept my congratulations, Louis,” he kissed Louis’s hand. “I’m delighted for the both of you.” Fairfax glared at Harry. 

With Louis’ hand still in his, Fairfax addressed Harry. “My dear friend! Would you mind joining me for tea in the library? I would love to hear how all this came to be,” said Fairfax, hand flailing around. Louis was not fooled by his façade.

Harry hesitated, it seemed, glancing at Louis and Lady Catherine back and forth. “Of course,” he said and gestured to Fairfax to come along.

Louis waited until they were inside the manor and out of sight, and adjusted his arrow again. Eyes trained on the target, he drew the string back. The arrow awaited to be let loose, full of potential. Louis looked at James, who was watching Louis, and released the string.

_ Bulls-eye. _

\--

“Could you not have come up with a better explanation than that?” Louis threw his head back, laughing. Lady Catherine laughed along as well.

They had been conversing about the wedding preparations, specifically how comical Fairfax's face had been when he congratulated the new couple.

Lady Catherine lifted her glass of rum when she heard the deafening sound of glass shattering, spilling her drink all over her lovely gown.

“Your dress!” Louis exclaimed, watching the soft blue of her dress absorb the liquid. He looked up at the manor, only to find flames burning it down. “What in hell…”

The manor was alive, people screaming from the inside. The noises startle the pair, both shaken to the core.

Lady Catherine then noticed, “Louis!” she exclaimed. “The library! It is burning” she yelled, eyes wide with panic.

“Harry.” Louis took off in an instant, running towards and inside the manor.

It seemed the fire hadn’t spread to this wing of the manor. Louis ran up to the stairs, dodging the chaos of panic driven people.

“My lord! Where are you going? It is not safe!” Parker followed Louis up the stairs.

“Harry! He is in the library!” Louis heaved.

“I will come with you.”

The butler and his master jogged to the west wing. The sight they witnessed was frightful. Portraits and paintings of ancient wealth were being burned to ashes. Wood crumbled down over them, every linen in sight was roaring up in flames. The door to the library was closed, smoke escaping from beneath it.

They rushed towards it, rattling the door knob but in vain. It was locked.

“Keys! Give me the keys!” Louis yelled.

Parker searched himself. “Mrs. Reeves has the keys, my lord. I will get them right away,” he said, leaving right away.

“Harry!,” Louis banged on the door. “Harry, can you hear me?”

“Could you open this door for me?” Louis screamed.

He yelled till he had no oxygen to inhale but smoke.

_ Where was Parker! _

Frustrated, Louis pushed at the doors with his shoulders. He took a few steps back, then drove towards the door with his shoulder, hoping the impact would be enough to break the door down.

It didn't. So, Louis did it again and again until he was too tired to move.

“My lord!” Parker’s voice came finally. He dashed towards Louis, keys jingling in his hand.

“My lord, are you okay?” 

“Give me the keys,” Louis grabbed them from Parker. “I’m still breathing Parker. We don't know about Harry.” his fingers trembled as he tried to insert the key. “I need to… Harry…”

He shoved the key inside the keyhole, trying every key possible. "Fuck!"

Parker was astonished, for he had never seen his master so frightened, nor ever heard him curse.

“May I try?” Parker was already taking the keys, trying them one by one.

Unlike Louis', Parker’s fingers didn't shake when they inserted a key in the keyhole. Perhaps, because unlike Louis, Parker did not have someone he deeply cared about on the other side of the door, awaiting death to wrap them up in it’s bleak shawl. Unlike Louis, Parker’s face did not reflect the fear and pain Louis had felt upon seeing Harry on the floor.

And unlike Louis, Parker had not witnessed the horror of Fairfax's burning body in the middle of the library.

  
  


\--

Gillingham Hall was burnt to ashes. However, the east wing still stood on it's grounds. It had been decided it would be safer to live elsewhere for the time being.

Lansen Estate was no cottage, nor was it the equivalent of the Gillingham Hall. Yet, for tonight and for an indefinite period of time, it would provide everyone with the safety of shelter. Lansen Estate had been purchased for Louis. He had convinced Robert of how it could be profitable to have this house under their lands. Years later, here was Louis finding shelter in it.

It had been two weeks for the incident. Fairfax’s charred body was found later and cremated. Days later, after Harry recovered from his injuries, he received a letter that Taylor had found in his clothes on the day of the incident.

It was a letter from Fairfax, addressed to Louis.

When Louis decided he would read the letter, he had requested Harry’s company. Harry had waited patiently as Louis took his time reading every word, till there was nothing left to read but cry.

Harry was by his side in an instant, holding him, comforting him. Louis gave Harry the letter in answer to what _ happened? _

He had still held Louis close while he read the letter with muted words.

“He confessed, Harry!” Louis sobbed. “Fairfax killed Robert!”

The papers next morning would announce the treachery of a companion, followed by ghastly images of a burning Gillingham Hall.

All of that had happened over a month ago. Louis and Harry had decided to get married earlier today. A quick decision that had everyone giddy. They had decided over a private ceremony at the church. The priest, the local parish, Catherine and his staff among the audience. 

They were set to sail tomorrow for their honeymoon. Paris, they had planned, hoping to start their new lives in the city of love. Taylor had been on his feet all day, sorting out all kinds of nuisances. Now that it was almost nightfall, Louis had given Taylor the rest of the day off, a well deserved break. Unfortunately, undressing himself seemed to be quite a task, or even finding his own clothes, for the matter. The ribbons on the shirt were tangled up and Louis couldn't get them untangled. After a few frustrated tugs, he gave up, deciding on wearing one of Harry's nightshirts.

Few minutes passed and Louis was getting restless. He did not have the slightest of clues on Harry's whereabouts. Nor did he have any means of entertaining himself in this house. A small project of fixing his nightshirt seemed like a good idea.

Remembering Harry's penchant for embroidery, Louis looked through Harry's things in hopes of finding a pair of scissors, some thread and a needle. He found one of Harry’s nightshirts and changed into it, saving his project for another day. Underneath the nightshirts, he found a framed portrait of the girl under various articles. Louis picked it up; the girl was reading a book while she sat next to a piano. Her hair was let loose. She looked beautiful and for a second Louis felt the bitter pang of jealousy.

"Louis?" Harry knocked.

Quickly, he shut the drawer close.

"Louis? Are you okay?" Harry walked up to Louis and turned him around. "Did something- oh." 

It's then that Louis looked at Harry.

"You found it."

"Was I not meant to?" Louis countered, his heart sinking at the idea of Harry having someone else's bed to crawl into.

Harry shook his head.

"I apologize. I should not have been looking into your things. I'm sorry," Louis said.

Harry took the portrait from Louis' hand and dropped it on the bed, "we're married, Louis. You are my husband." He took Louis' hands in his, "you have every right to know about my past."

He looked at the picture longingly. How he missed his dear sister! Here in the picture, Sybil looked nothing like how Harry had last seen her. This Sybil looked happy, content with life with a book in her hand. This Sybil wasn't crying tears of pain as she fought through pain in the corner of a dark alleyway only to die in Harry's arms. 

\--

_ It had been a tiring day for young Harry. Rain had pelted hard on the ground making the mud stick to his crisp white trousers. Guilt washed through him at the thought of his mother having to scrub them clean but the excitement of showing his first wages overpowered it. _

_ The sun was on the horizon, just about to set. The sky was ablaze with faint tones of orange and yellow peeking through the clouds. It looked beautiful. _

_ As Harry rounded the corner, he passed the tavern that had been opened recently. The back valley it exited into was of shorter distance to his home. On normal days, Harry wouldn't go in and indulge himself. Except, today was special. He went in, purchased some pudding and exited into the back alley. Walking a short distance, he heard cries. It had gotten dark now, the sun having set. He approached the sound. _

_ "Someone's coming," hushes of whisper lingered in the air. Voices of those of men, men who ran away as Harry approached the area. _

_ A limp body lay on the cold ground. _

_ Heart thudding in his chest, he walked faster. Every breath was knocked out of Harry when he saw who it was. _

_ "Sybil!" Harry screamed. _

_ She looked lifeless though her chest moved in rhythm to her breathing. Barely there. _

_ Harry crouched on the ground, gently bringing her head to rest on his lap. _

_ "Harry," her voice was weak and barely audible. _

_ "What happened?" Harry sobbed. _

_ Her lover's name fell from her bloody lips. _

_ Urgently, Harry looked her over. There were bruises forming on her hands, her feet bare and muddy. The soft blue of her dress was stained red below her stomach. Disbelief washed over Harry. _

_ "Sybil!" His voice sounded broken to his ears. He did not need a confirmation to understand that Sybil was assaulted. Still, a part of him wished he was reading too much into things. _

_ "I'm sorry," Sybil sobbed. "I'm sorry," she breathed finally. _

\--

"I'm sorry," Sybil's final words echoed through Louis' mouth. His voice cracked as he said it, prompting Harry to finally look up.

Both their eyes were filled with sorrow, regret, pain and tears.

"I'm so very sorry," Louis said again, this time leaning forward to take Harry into his arms. Embracing his love in hopes of lessening the pain he felt. The pain that Louis could never fathom.

Harry cried silently, his body shook as he did. So many years he had buried the pain deep within him, enclosing it in the deepest parts of his heart so that it may never resurface, but always having it present in the back of his mind. All these years later, here he was, living the immortal pain in the arms of his lover.

Sniffling, Harry pulled away. He sat back in awe, watching this man whom he loved unconditionally. Words could never measure up to the love he has for this man.

A soft press of his lips on Louis' forehead; he hoped with every fiber in his body that that kiss conveyed his emotions, his feelings for this man.

"I love you," he said.

Louis blushed then peered behind Harry, "What have you got there?"

"Was not trying to hide it but," Harry removed a flower that he was hiding behind his back and tucked it in Louis' hair. "Beautiful," Harry muttered causing Louis to blush.

So long Louis has received compliments from Harry but it would never cease to feel normal. Everyday felt like a new beginning, every step forward nurturing hope, and every touch a silent prayer at the altar of love

Harry was overcome with his love for Louis. Just a few days ago, he was finding clues to get closer to the truth and here he was, at Louis' mercy.

Harry cupped Louis' face, thumb caressing the curve of his lips. They blossomed like a red rose in snow and Harry was captivated them. He pressed a kiss to Louis's lips, a gentle brush that promised love, respect and loyalty.

"What are you wearing?" Harry pulled back and looked Louis over. It was Harry's nightshirt.

Louis hesitated, eyes flickering to the ground. "I liked how big it looked on me."

"Turn around for me, my love," Harry said, hands on Louis' waist. 

Harry pressed kisses on the back of Louis’ neck, Louis hummed softly at the touch. Harry's hand reached out to expose Louis’ shoulder off the shirt, the other running his hands across Louis’ warm belly. 

Louis shivered as Harry kissed his shoulder, biting and sucking the skin there. Harry's hands were warm on his skin. As Harry pressed Louis closer, he could feel him getting hard. Louis pressed back, desperate for more touch, more of Harry, more of everything. 

Harry turned Louis around and pushed him against the wall, switching between gentle and rough kisses that had Louis panting. The rush of kissing Louis would never fade away. The exhilarating feeling he got when Louis shivered under his touch and begged for more as he arched up would never be enough. He would always want more of Louis,  _ need _ more of him.

Harry pulled back and said, “There is something I would like to try.” 

Louis nodded, “I trust you,” his breath coming out raggedly.

Harry did not know if Louis understood what he meant but there was no doubt in Louis’ eyes. With his hands on Louis’ hips, he turned Louis around, front facing the wall. He pressed soft kisses to the back of Louis’ neck, fingers digging into his hips.

Harry got down on his knees, bunching up the nightshirt only to find Louis bare. If anybody asked, this was the altar he prayed at, these curves that he worshiped. His hands came to rest on Louis’ curves. One kiss on each cheek and then he spread Louis. 

Louis gasped upon realizing what this gesture meant. He had never been this intimate with Robert, or anyone. He tensed up.

Feeling Louis’ nervousness, Harry kissed the dimples on Louis’ back. “I will never do anything you don't want. Say the word and I will stop.”

“I trust you,” Louis repeated, already panting.

No sooner had the words left his mouth, Louis felt the wetness and the sweetest pleasure of all washed over him like a tidal wave.

\--

Harry revelled in the way Louis was wrapped around him, his body being the only source of warmth in the dead of the night. Harry wished he could stay like this forever; wrapped in the arms of his lover where no harm could touch them.

For now, he had some place to be. Reluctantly, Harry detangled himself from Louis, careful not to wake him up. After putting his clothes on and coat, he looked at Louis who was still asleep. Harry couldn't help but press a kiss to his forehead. He was utterly in love with this man.

He tiptoed across the room and the door, gently closing it behind. There was no point in going to the stables in hopes of a horse without making a fuss of it. He decided on walking to his destination.

Harry ran as fast as he could, the harsh air hitting his face coldly. It was but a few miles, but he made it. Heaving, he reached the grave he had stood before not long ago. With his head held in shame and guilt while his eyes wept.

This time he had no wild flowers to place over the moss covered grave. Only the offer of peace. He sat down next to the gravel, hand resting on tombstone.

If Sybil was still alive, Harry would've held her hand and told her what he did for her. He would've told her how he found love amidst the chaos of injustice.

But she wasn't. She is dead. The grave providing the only means of physical contact for Harry.

"I married Louis," Harry said. "I love him," he smiled imagining how good friends Louis and Sybil would be, were she here.

He brought his coat closer as the wind blew fiercely.

"I found him," his voice turned grave. "He  _ wronged _ you. He  _ betrayed _ Louis. Was I expected to just leave him be?" His voice bellowed.

"I could not leave him after knowing he hurt the two people I love most ardently. Do you understand?," Harry shook his head. "I had to make him pay for what he did."

"So I killed him." Harry spoke with no emotion. "I made him suffer just as he made you suffer. I betrayed him just as he betrayed Louis," Harry said passionately.

Harry took a deep breath and confessed, "I killed Robert.”

Saying it out loud felt like a weight lifted off his chest. His secret now shared between his dead companion and the winter air.

"I hadn't planned to do so!" Harry defended himself. "I had only planned to confront him, get him to confess the vile sin he committed."

Harry sighed, looking at the damp ground beneath him. He wondered if Sybil was in comfort. She never did like winters, like him.

"My passion for justice got the better of me," he said, voice low.

"So many times I had to lie to Louis. To protect him and myself!"

"First, when I was burying the bloody letter opener, in the garden, which served as my weapon. Then, when I walked Louis back to his room. I had to make sure he wouldn't go in the kitchen, for it was there I had left Robert."

Harry stood. "I still wonder how Robert came to Louis' room. Perhaps he had little life left in him after all."

"If it hadn't been for Lady Catherine, I wouldn't still be here. Of course, the suspicion of murder fell on Louis and I had to make sure his name wouldn't be tainted, and so I stayed. I planted evidence on Louis only to clear his name so that nobody would ever suspect him."

Harry paced as he rubbed his palms. “However, it was not my intention to frame Fairfax for the murder! You see, I had planted that letter."

"I underestimated his thirst for wealth," Harry's tsked.

"I had planned to leave at the earliest. Perhaps I had been too naïve, getting involved in this investigation but don't you understand? I could not leave Louis alone! Those vile men and their vice thoughts! I had to protect Louis so I stayed.”

“Fairfax- he was on to me,” said Harry pensively. “I suppose his memory caught up to him and he finally recognized me.”

_ The moment Harry stepped in the library, the atmosphere changed. Fairfax was seated at the same diwan that Louis once had. As Harry sat down, he was reminded of the incident that had followed that one fateful night. _

_ Fairfax peered at Harry from behind his cards, his eyes sparkling with intensity. Something had shifted from when they were outside and Harry realized it all too well. The matter of which Harry couldn't pinpoint, yet he knew to remain guarded. _

_ The fire was lit yet Fairfax stood to fetch some candles. _

_ "It's getting dark," he said simply. _

_ "Did you know Robert was engaged to a village girl before he became an earl?" Fairfax asked from behind Harry, the sound of the banister opening clear in the thick air. _

_ Harry froze, "No." _

_ Fairfax came into his view with a lit candle in one hand and a few in other. "Her name was Sybil." _

_ Harry gripped his card harder. _

_ Fairfax stood with his back to Harry, he was lighting up the rest of the candles and placing them on the candelabra. _

_ "But you," he turned to Harry, "you already knew that." _

_ Harry dropped his cards on the table and sat back. His heart thudded as Fairfax moved towards him. Apprehension filled him; had Fairfax figured it out? _

_ "I know why you are here, Harry." Fairfax was now sitting opposite to him, staring at him, challenging. _

_ "Did you really think I would not know?" _

_ "No," Harry said calmly. "I had planned to leave before you could find out." _

_ "Ah yes! But you didn't because of our darling Louis." _

_ "Don't you dare speak of him!" Harry's blood boiled. _

_ "Tell me, Harry," Fairfax sipped his tea, "does he know?" _

_ "Of your crimes or mine?" Harry challenged. _

_ "So you do acknowledge it!" Fairfax clapped his hands in glee. _

_ Harry stood to leave. The sooner he did, the better chance he’d have at an escape. Fairfax looked manic under the glow of the firewood, who’s to say he wouldn't attempt to execute a ghastly plan. _

_ Harry was quick on his feet and to the doors. He jerked the doorknob but alas! The door was locked from the outside. _

_ Heavy footsteps thumped behind him. Fight or flight was the only option. If Harry was being honest, right here at this moment, he would choose flight. He would run away to places he wouldn’t be found and be there with Louis. Safe, the both of them. Perhaps, they would raise a family together. The prospect of a happy and loving life seemed so close, just out of his reach. _

_ It seemed that life would cruelly have him fight instead. Before he could throw a punch or defend himself, he felt excruciating pain from within his head. Harry stumbled and turned around, his attacker smiling under a dizzying spell. _

_ Stunned, he blinked his eyes slowly to the spinning room, trying to gain control. His hands reached up behind his head, touching the point of impact on his head. He fell back on the ground, his head numb with pain. There was nothing left to do than endure this. There was no fight left. _

_ Exhaustion weighed him down with gravity even though he lay still on the ground. There was no way out. Trauma overwhelmed him, his vision faded. Something sharp was pressed at his throat and his vision faded into a pitch of blackness. _

"Did I do right?" Harry asked, his voice small.

Harry did not expect an answer from Sybil nor did he hope the air would speak to him. He certainly did not expect it when Louis replied, "you did. You brought them to justice."

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Reblog the Tumblr post [here](http://mugglemirror.tumblr.com/post/190344188935/something-wicked-this-way-comes-main-pairing) if you liked the fic :)
> 
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